Henry Ware's expectations of joy had been fulfilled and more; it was the
keenest delight that had yet come into his life. At all times he had
been master of the situation, and as he drew them southward, he
fulfilled his duty at the same time and enjoyed his sport. Everything
had fallen out as he planned, and now, with the night at hand, he shook
them off.
Through the day he had eaten dried venison from his pouch, as he ran,
and he felt no need to stop for food. So, he did not cease the flight
until after midnight when he lay down again in a thicket and slept
soundly until daylight. He rose again, refreshed, and faster than ever
sped on his swift way toward Wareville.
CHAPTER XIV
THE RETURN
Wareville lay in its pleasant valley, rejoicing in the young spring, so
kind with its warm rains that the men of the village foresaw a great
season for crops. The little river flowed in a silver current, smoke
rose from many chimneys, and now and then the red homemade linsey dress
of a girl gleamed in the sunlight like the feathers of the scarlet
tanager. To the left were the fields cleared for Indian corn, and to the
right were the gardens.
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